I feel as if I’ve lost days of my life to digital causes. Even though I’m an extrovert, the near-constant drip of WhatsApp communications can drain me; my anxiety over not replying instantly to everyone is at constant simmer. Add to that the element of performance, and the worry that proving you care is measured in the messages you send … and it can all get too much.
“Where has Remona gone?” panicked one friend, when I went awol while juggling a deadline, babysitting, and hosting house guests. The pile-up of 248 unread messages in one group alone – inclusive of podcast-length voice notes – made me feel like a bad person for being absent. Sometimes, I’m happy to be entirely mute – as I was in one unnecessarily large group I was added to without consent. I went unnoticed for years amid unsolicited selfies of people I barely knew and forwarded messages that had to be forwarded further or you’d face some disaster, until someone realised I was lurking and outed me in front of all 43 members. I was mortified.
